


Twelve Nights

by Everlark_Pearl



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 04:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlark_Pearl/pseuds/Everlark_Pearl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never a question where Peeta would be sleeping for the rest of the tour. Since he ran in here that first night and climbed into bed with me, I can’t imagine it any other way</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwantyoumellark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwantyoumellark/gifts).



> This story is dedicated to iwantyoumellark. After Catching Fire was released, we both talked at length about the scenes where Katniss and Peeta were sleeping together. In the midst of that, this story was born. Thank you for trusting me to write this, P. I hope you like it!
> 
> Special thanks to ichooseupeetachu for pre-reading (several times lol), and helping me make this as best as I could!
> 
> Come talk to me on Tumblr. I'm mellarksloaves.

Peeta told me to watch the shadows. They leak in through the window as the train speeds toward its next destination, dancing across the floor and rising up like vines. They cover the bed sheets in blotted darkness that never stays long. Just as quickly as they sprouted, they slip away. He said if I kept watching them, I may be able to fall asleep. It’d be like counting sheep you could actually see, yet sleep still hasn’t come. I’m still watching the silhouettes twist and turn at impossible speeds while Peeta sleeps next to me.

I press the side of my face into the pillow and focus on the slow rise and fall of his chest. It was never a question where Peeta would be sleeping for the rest of the tour. Since he ran in here that first night and climbed into bed with me, I can’t imagine it any other way. Now, the robe he'd been keeping tightly wrapped around his body like armor is now draped over the end of the bed like it belongs there -- like he belongs here. The covers he was initially reluctant to slip under are pulled up to his stomach, and his arm rests snugly under the back of his head. However, his face hardly looks content.

With his jaw clenched and eyebrows knit tightly, he looks like he's in pain. And all the while, the shadows never stop. They drift across Peeta’s sleeping form and up to his face, drowning the troubled expression with their darkness and then vanishing without a trace before I can blink. Peeta grimaces again, but doesn't make a sound.

And then I'm reaching for him and rest my hand in the middle of his chest. Immediately, I feel the rapid and heavy beating of his heart against my palm and I know right away that he's trapped in a place where I can't reach him. I try to shake him awake, but his face screws up even tighter, and his breathing becomes erratic -- a far cry from the shallow, rhythmic breaths he had been taking just minutes ago.

I’m reminded of our first night in this bed when I was trapped in a place in my mind so dark, so dismal that even my screams couldn’t bring me back to reality. I remember the way Peeta touched me that night. Gently, carefully, and just enough to affirm that nothing was going to hurt me. Just enough so that I felt safe. He needs that same safety, now.

My body seems to move without thought, closer and closer to Peeta until I’m able to curl up right at his side and rest my head on his shoulder. As I whisper his name into his ear over and over, trying to bring him back from his nightmare, my hand finds his face and the tips of my fingers begin to trace every crease from every wince.

Slowly, the anxious tension in Peeta’s body begins to melt away and as his breathing evens out again, he pulls his arm up from between us and wraps it around me, pulling me closer still. There isn’t an inch of our bodies that aren’t touching, now.

While I settle into Peeta’s embrace, my eyes travel over his face. The relaxed expression that I see is such a relief, that I can’t help but rise up just enough to press a light kiss to his mouth. This causes him to stir. Finally, his eyes open and he blinks twice while he turns on his side to face me.

Another protective arm wraps around my body and both hands come to rest on the small of my back. Peeta says nothing, but his eyes are locked on mine so fiercely, I feel a shiver run through my body. We’re close. So close that I wouldn’t have to move my head very far to kiss him again. Peeta isn’t the only one surprised when that’s exactly what I do.

This time, rather than pulling away before Peeta has a chance to respond, I let him. I feel his lips press back against mine, trapping my bottom lip between his. It’s been a long time since we’ve shared a kiss with this level of intensity. Maybe not since the cave. I don’t want to stop. Not even when Peeta’s hands begin to travel up and down my back, dipping lower with each pass until his fingers just graze the top of my ass.

Even as I force myself to pull away, my cheeks warm and flushed, Peeta’s gaze hasn’t changed. The half-lidded expression bores into me and I feel a sense of insatiability under his scrutiny. The only thing I can do is bury my face into his chest for the rest of the night, hoping that this feeling will go away.

But the next night, as the darkness takes over the train and the shadows appear once more, our bodies seem to move of their own accord. There isn’t an inch of space between our bodies; nothing that I tell myself seems to persuade me to keep my distance.

We lie chest to chest, unmoving at first. But soon Peeta’s hands begin the familiar back and forth motion from the night before. The soft tips of his fingers run across my back tenderly while he keeps his eyes locked on me. It’s as though the lower his fingers travel across my body, the more he searches my face for disapproval that never comes. I can’t find an explanation or the words to tell him, but I suddenly crave to feel his hands on me for more than just comfort.

Instead of disapproval, I offer Peeta a surprisingly assertive nod that seems to urge his hands lower until they both rest, palms down, against my ass. He gives a gentle squeeze, evoking a high pitched yelp from me that shocks us both.

Peeta loosens his grip, his eyebrows raised questioningly, apologetically, even. I realize quickly that he’s mistaken my response for displeasure. Before I can talk myself out of it, I press my lips to his and hope he understands. But when his hands remain still against me, I know he's still unsure.

“It’s ok,” I whisper, keeping my body pressed flush against his. "You can touch me."

I watch Peeta’s worried expression change. His eyes grow dark and I try to hold his gaze, but fail when I feel a rush of heat wash over me. I want him to know that I meant what I said. He can touch me; I want him to touch me. I bring a tentative hand up to his cheek and pull him into another kiss and when I finally feel his hand tighten and squeeze, any noise I make is silenced by his mouth.

The combination of Peeta’s hands gently kneading my ass and his lips planting delicate kisses against my mouth is thrilling in a way that it never has been before. And I know he feels it too, because when I open my mouth and feel his tongue slide across mine, it’s him that shivers.

As many times as I’ve kissed Peeta since I found him in the arena, we’ve never kissed like this before. Every time his tongue dips into my mouth and I taste the mint flavor of his toothpaste, the less willing I am to stop this. It’s warm in a way it never has been before, too. That warmth burns through my body, heating me up in ways I don’t dare think about right now.

Ignoring every question I could be asking myself, I allow my body to take over. Without breaking away from Peeta’s lips, I shift just enough so my hand can easily pull my nightgown up. It temporarily forces Peeta’s hands off of me, but he’s quick to bring them right back to where they were as soon as I’ve raised the garment high enough. When his hands settle, I feel them against the thin fabric of my underwear. And the sound that I make when I feel his fingers dig into my exposed skin can only be described as a moan.  

Peeta mutters a soft “Shh” against my lips, reminding me of how thin these walls on the train are. The last thing I want is for anyone to hear us. It’s bad enough that everyone on this train is well aware of the nightmares. I don’t want to give them anything else to talk about.

I try to hold back. I try to silence myself with Peeta’s lips, hoping that any noise that escapes will be swallowed by his mouth, but this only seems to increase the frequency of my cries due to the way the warmth of Peeta’s tongue dipping into my mouth feels. It slides against my own in a pattern that quickly becomes familiar, and I find myself matching his advances with equal fervor. The high pitched sigh that slips out when he takes my bottom lip between his and begins to suck makes him pull away and stare at me with wide eyes.

Peeta’s next move is unexpected, but not unwelcome. With his grip on my ass even tighter than before, he pulls me toward him. My hips press into his and Peeta exhales loudly, a groan of his own escaping at the contact. I smile against his lips and attempt to tell him to stay quiet the same way he had shushed me just a minute ago, but the sound dies in my throat when Peeta pulls me into him again and I feel his erection against my hip.

My first thought is to freeze and stop this before it goes any further. Yet, I don’t. I can’t. Rather than stopping this, I begin to push further, emulating the way Peeta pulled me into him. With each roll of my hips, I ensure that his erection presses against as much of me as possible. His hands never leave my ass. It’s as though he’s afraid that if he lets me go, I’ll disappear. But I have no plans to leave this bed. Not when it feels like every nerve in my body is throbbing and alive.

Every touch sends a jolt of electricity up and down my entire body, and every soft groan that slips from Peeta’s lips when his arousal presses into my hip only seems to make the throbbing worse -- especially between my legs.

For the first time since we slipped into this bed together tonight, Peeta removes his hands from me completely, bringing them down between our bodies. The ache I feel without his hands on me is even worse than I remember, and I’m forced to pull away to look at him quizzically.

“Have you ever thought about..” Peeta’s voice catches. He clears his throat before continuing. “About where else you’d like being touched?”

He asks the question in a whisper that’s so low I can barely hear him. His eyes, half-lidded and dark, pore over my face while he waits for an answer.

“No,” I finally manage to say, offering nothing more.

Peeta’s lips crash into mine. He wastes no time pushing his tongue past my lips and I drink him in greedily in return. His hands return to my ass and his erection presses against me again. This time, Peeta angles his hips lower, slipping between my legs in such a way that his hardness rubs right against my core.

I didn’t think the throbbing coursing through my body could get any worse. I’m quickly proven wrong when Peeta’s length seems to skim right over the part of me that’s pulsing the most. The gasp that I emit seems to be exactly what Peeta was hoping for. His lips quirk up into a grin against mine.

“Mmmhmm,” he hums, licking his lips as he pulls away. “Where did you feel that?” he asks. “Show me.”

Even though his voice is faint, there’s a gruffness behind it that lights a fire in my stomach. I bring my hand down, watching Peeta’s eyes follow before I slip it between my legs and rub against the thin fabric of my underwear in the same spot where Peeta was just pressed against me.

“How does that feel?” Peeta asks.

At first, I want him to stop talking. What if someone hears what he’s asking me? His voice is low, though. So low that even I can barely hear him, and I decide talking is probably better in this case.

“Good,” I croak. My voice sounds shaky and anxious.

Peeta raises an eyebrow at me, uncertainty written all over his face. I clear my throat and glide my fingers across the fabric of my underwear again. The material is warm and damp against my fingers, and I wonder if Peeta would be less uncertain if he felt this, too.

My hand finds his nestled between our bodies, and I guide him between my legs. He inhales sharply and shifts his hips when his fingers brush against my cloth-covered middle. Taking a chance, I look down and see his erection straining against his cotton sweatpants. Should I touch it? He’s touching me, but it’s with my guidance. What if he doesn’t want me to touch him?

And then before I can contemplate any further, his hips are moving again. The same way they moved when he pressed himself into me, but this time there’s nothing for him to grind against. His fingers begin to move without my direction, two fingers gingerly rocking back and forth along my folds. It feels so good that I can’t stop myself from wrapping my hand around his erection.

I don’t move -- I wait. Wait for Peeta to react. To tell me what he wants, though all he does is close his eyes and stills the movements of both his hips and his fingers. My blood runs cold at the thought of doing something wrong. Just as I’m about to pull my hand away, however, he starts moving again.

He juts his hips forward, making sure my entire hand is full of him. His rhythm isn’t what it was before. It’s erratic, and I can tell he’s struggling with this. He also seems to have forgotten that he shushed me earlier, because his whimpers are growing louder. If anyone were to overhear, there’d be no mistaking what’s happening in here.

Quickly, I cover Peeta’s mouth with my own, pushing my tongue past his lips and try my best to stifle the moans. I’m not prepared when his hips and fingers still unexpectedly and his body shudders against my hand. A few more moans slip between our lips, but most are absorbed by our frantic kisses.

I wait several minutes for him to begin again, but instead, Peeta pulls away from me and refuses to meet my gaze. All at once, I realize what’s just happened.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Peeta grumbles, slipping out of bed without giving me a chance to answer, though I briefly contemplate following him. But then I decide it’ll probably only embarrass him further, so I let him go. And when he returns, a fresh pair of sweatpants hugging his hips, I pretend that I’m asleep.

Even though I noticed Haymitch staring at me and Peeta a little longer than usual the next day, I don’t bring the incident up and Peeta doesn’t either. We go through the motions as always. New day, new district, new challenges. Once we were safe to leave and Effie shuffled us back onto the train that immediately sped off toward the next destination, we had a quiet dinner and retreated to our bedroom compartments for the night.  

Any embarrassment Peeta may have felt last night seemed to have vanished the moment my compartment door slid closed. He shrugged out of his robe easily and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching me. His eyes never left mine once. I returned his burning stare and slowly walked toward him, each second that ticked by filling me with a boldness I’ve only felt while in this room. And as I closed in on Peeta, rather than sitting down next to him, I crawled on top of him.

There were no hesitations, no questioning stares. Our lips crashed together immediately with an urgency that felt as desperate as it could get. Then we were wrapped up in each other once more. Chasing the burdens of the day away with each ardent kiss. I remember Peeta’s arms wrapping around me tightly and the room spinning around while he scooted us both to the head of the bed, but I can’t remember anything else until Peeta’s hands settled on my thighs confidently

Peeta’s touches have always been a welcoming sensation for me. Full of warmth and steadiness, every graze and hug fill me with a sense of calm that I haven’t felt in years. But as my body hovers over his and those same steady hands travel up my thighs with purpose, I feel the opposite of calm. All his caresses seem to do is make me feel frenzied. Like his hands can’t possibly touch me as much as I crave.

Now, with the sounds of our kisses growing louder in the silent room, Peeta’s hands continue to inch their way up until they completely disappear under the hem of my nightgown. One hand grasps my hip while the other moves between my legs, rubbing the inside of my thigh.

The wait to feel his fingers pressed against my middle is so agonizing that I want to grab his hand and speed up the process. But I don’t, and I’m glad, because when I feel two of his fingers slide across the cotton of my underwear, the relief is so sweet. Sweet, but short lived. The ache between my legs grows more and more urgent as Peeta teases and massages me through the fabric. I need more.

My hips seem to make the decision for me, and soon, I’m pressing myself down against Peeta’s hand, groaning with satisfaction when his palm presses right against the spot that has been aching the most. That always aches the most when I'm with him.

My nightgown pools around my thighs, continually forcing me to gather it up and move it out of the way so I can watch Peeta’s hand as it works in tandem with my hips. Each time it falls back down, it pulls me from the rhythm I’ve found.

With my frustration mounting, I finally grab hold of the offending garment with tight fists and swiftly bring it up and over my head, discarding it on the bed. Immediately, I realize just how exposed I am, now. I want to get off of Peeta’s lap, gather my nightgown, and forget about this whole thing until I feel Peeta’s hand on my hip giving me a gentle squeeze, as though he can sense my discomfort.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Peeta says, his hand stroking my hip and side tenderly.

“I wanted to.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “I think so..”

“No.” Peeta shakes his head firmly, reaching out and snagging my nightgown from where I dropped it on the bed. He presses the balled up garment against my chest, covering my exposed breasts. “Not unless you’re sure.”

But as a I look at him and see the concern in those blue eyes, tamping out the heat and fire that were present before, I realize that I am sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything before. The thought almost scares me.

Rather than taking hold of the nightgown so Peeta can drop his hand, I cover it with my own, securing his hand against my chest before pulling at the fabric that’s trapped between us. Slowly, it starts to slip from Peeta’s grasp, and when I’ve discarded the nightgown for the second time, I guide Peeta’s hand to my bare breast.

“I’m sure,” I whisper, exhaling loudly when I feel Peeta’s hand squeeze the mound.

With his hand gone from between my legs, his erection is noticeable. I don’t look down to see, but I imagine it straining against his cotton pants just as it did last night. The thrill I feel when I remember the way he thrust into my hand and the audible gasps he made as he finished makes the pulsing at my center even more insistent than before.

Positioning myself over Peeta’s arousal, I drive my hips forward, holding on to his shoulders for leverage. We both whimper in unison, trying as hard as we can to stay as quiet as possible, but I don’t know how long that will last. If it feels this good now, what will it feel like when-- Peeta’s head dropping to my chest brings me back to attention. I feel his lips, warm and wet, brush against the cleft between my breasts. I pause, watching Peeta move across my chest and press his lips to the breast he is still palming, and suddenly he’s kissing a place I never imagined wanting to be kissed before. And I’m enjoying it.

I almost cry out loudly when Peeta’s tongue flicks against my nipple. The act is so surprising, but the sensation is so warm. I’m taken to another level completely when Peeta’s mouth closes around the hardened nub. My hands fly to the back of his head, raking and clenching his hair between my fingers while my lower half moves in short thrusts, pressing Peeta’s erection against me as hard as I can, but something still isn’t right. There are is still too much in the way.

Dropping my hands back down to Peeta’s shoulders, I give him a gentle push, separating the connection between his mouth and my nipple. He gives me a confused stare, and I give him a half smile in return before pushing him down until his back is flat against the mattress.

I don’t know how to explain what I want to do, so I let my body speak for me. I slide off of Peeta, burrowing close against his side. He reacts as he would if this were any other night on this train by wrapping a protective arm around my shoulders. Once we’re settled, I look down at his pants for the first time tonight. The straining is evident even in the low lighting.

Peeta tenses when I reach my hand out to touch him. I have to wonder if he’s worried about a repeat of last night, so I pull away. I’m not ready for this to be over just yet. I want to see him, and the soft tug I give to the waistband of Peeta’s pants tells him this loud and clear. His eyes travel from my hand to my face, and I see the burning stare has returned. The heat his stare brings to my body drives any nerves that may have been lurking far away, and my hand grips the soft cotton of Peeta’s pants and I begin to pull eagerly.

I can just make out the angle of his hips and the way they plunge down on a slant that seems to point right at the part of him I’m most anxious to see. He lifts his lower half from the mattress just enough to allow me to slip the pants down past his ass, and as he settles back down I’m forced to tug a little harder when the pants get caught as I try to pull them past his arousal.

Peeta hisses, and at first I think I’m hurting him until I hear a moan escape. With one final yank, his erection springs free and for the first time, I look at all of him. Not even in the arena would I look down to catch a glimpse of him. But now, I can make out every inch of him in this dim compartment. How it rests against his stomach and how he’s slightly curved toward the end. He’s so hard. There is nothing in the way of feeling just how hard he is now. I hesitate for a split second before wrapping my hand around him. He’s heavier against my palm than I expected, but also softer than he looks.

My hand begins to move despite not knowing what to do. The pads of my fingers brush against the tip of Peeta’s erection, and I hear him suck in a deep breath on contact. So I try again. The way he writhes with such a simple touch is fascinating, and I’m grateful when his hand covers mine and guides me in drawing my fist up and down his length.

After we find a good pace, Peeta lets go of my hand and mutters not to stop. He wiggles around, pulling his white t-shirt up to his ribs as I continue to stroke him. His breathing grows more and more labored with every second that passes, every inhale and exhale suddenly so audible that they seem to reverberate from the walls and back into my ears. I should be concerned about who might hear him, too, but I’m not. The sounds are too pleasant, too tempting for me to care right now.

Wetness gathers between my legs, dampening my underwear for the second night in a row. Between Peeta’s moans and the way he feels sliding through my hand, my thoughts are full of wondering what it would feel like to have Peeta’s hands on me without the barrier of clothing. The thought alone makes me clench my thighs together in attempts to ward off the nagging throb that still persists.

Peeta screws his eyes shut, and let’s out a shaky, strained groan. I notice his hand clutch the bedsheet suddenly and know he must be close. He doesn’t speak to let me know that he’s there, but I feel him tense in my hand just seconds before his orgasm hits and his body is overcome with intense tremors.

Something about watching him fall apart like this is arousing. To see his body, spent and sated, the evidence of his orgasm present on his stomach and dripping down my knuckles, almost makes me dizzy with need to feel the same, but not tonight. I don’t think I could possibly handle anything else right now, no matter how unrelenting the throbbing has become.

Instead, Peeta and I exit the bed and slip into the bathroom to clean up. I watch him wipe off his stomach with a wash cloth and tuck himself back into his sweatpants. When we get back to bed, I know I could let him touch me and bring me to the same state of contented bliss he’s in right now, but I don’t, and he doesn’t press me to let him. We settle in, my back pressed flush against his chest. When his hand slips into my underwear and his fingers settle low on my hip, I let him keep them there. It’s the first night since the tour started that I fall right to sleep.

Over the next two nights, I find that I can’t keep my hands off of Peeta. I touch him any chance that I can get, sometimes more than once a night. Tonight, with my hand wrapped firmly around Peeta’s erection, I realize just how much I enjoy doing this. There’s something about the way he feels in my hand, soft and rigid all at once, the way his body relaxes under my touch until the last possible moment until every inch of him tenses under my grasp and he comes undone that keeps me entranced and makes me want to touch him every chance I get.

The effect it has on me is one that I haven’t let myself think about much. Despite how pleasurable it is to see Peeta like this, to watch him climax and to know it was me that brought him to the edge and the thought of how much I enjoy it and how much I want him to do the same for me both thrills and terrifies me. At first, it was easy to tell myself that I was doing this for Peeta. I had less to think about when I told myself that. But tonight, as I watch him come for the third night in a row, I know that isn’t why I’m doing this. It’s never been why I did it. And I know I can’t possibly go another night without asking him to do the same for me, no matter what it forces me to think about later.

I know he wants to, even if he’s never pushed the idea. And with the way we’ve been sleeping lately, with one of his hands pushed just beyond the waistband of my underwear, he could easily let his hand slip lower, but he hasn’t and I know he won’t until I tell him I want him to. I just can’t seem to find the words until I see Peeta move to get out of bed.

“No,” I whisper. My voice isn’t as firm as I’d hoped, but it gets Peeta to stop.

“I have to go clean myself up,” Peeta reminds me. “I’ll be right back.”

“No,” I repeat, putting my hand to his chest and pushing him back down against the mattress.

I wish I could say more to him. I wish I could tell him that I want him to touch me until I feel myself come undone, but I can’t. Instead, I decide to show him. Sitting up, I grab my nightgown which has barely been on my body all night, and use it to clean Peeta up before tucking him back into his pants myself. It’s not the soap and warm water he’s used to rubbing himself down with each night, but it’s enough. I’ll need a fresh nightgown later, but that’s the last thing on my mind right now.

The next thing I have to do is something I’ve never done before. I take a deep breath and loop my fingers through the top of my underwear and start to pull, looking at Peeta’s face as I slip them down my legs. He sits up, his eyes traveling up between my legs as realization washes over him, and he murmurs my name when I throw my leg over him and climb into his lap.

Peeta’s hand finds my breast immediately, squeezing the mound firmly. I long to feel his mouth on my breast. Wrapping one arm behind Peeta’s head, I pull him to my chest and arch my back, willing him to take my nipple into his mouth.

When I feel his mouth close around the nub, I press two of my own fingers between my folds in attempts to alleviate the persistent aching that I’ve been feeling for days. I know immediately that won’t be enough anymore. I need to feel Peeta’s hand between my legs. Now.

My hands tangle in Peeta’s hair, and I pull him away from my chest, forcing him to look at me.

“Touch me,” I murmur. It’s all I can manage to tell him, but it’s enough.

He kisses me deeply, his tongue stroking mine languidly while his hand disappears between my thighs. His fingers slip between my slick folds and he groans into my mouth as he pushes a finger inside me. I shift my body and clench my walls around his finger, drawing it in further. The fit is snug, and while it doesn’t hurt, it does little to relieve the throbbing that still continues. This feels different than when Peeta touched me through my underwear, like he’s found a different spot to tease that isn’t quite as easy to get to. It’s not until he presses his entire hand against my middle and I feel his palm against me that he hits the spot I needed him to.

“There,” I gasp into his mouth.

Peeta removes his hand and repositions it, slipping two fingers through the wetness between my folds but never pushing them back inside of me. As he brings them back forward, he stops and presses them gently to the nerve he hit earlier.

“Here?” he asks, smiling as I lurch forward in response to his touch. I don’t have to answer him to tell him he’s found the right spot.

Using my wetness, he slips his fingers back and forth across the swollen nerve, causing me to squirm. His swipes are gentle, but firm enough that I can feel the pressure build. I didn’t think it could possibly get worse, but Peeta’s fingers rubbing back and forth and his mouth wandering all over my body, I can see how wrong I was yet again.

I cry out louder than I should when his teeth find my nipple. The pleasurable sensation radiates through my body, filling me with a need so great that I can’t help but swirl my hips to aid Peeta’s fingers. The added pressure is exactly what I needed and soon the pressure turns into a tingle that grows and spreads through my core and down my legs.

“Tell me when you’re going to come,” Peeta says, kissing me and speeding up the pace in which his fingers slide over me. The faster pace is all that I need. I press my forehead to his and whimper.

“Now,” I tell him.

His mouth closes around mine immediately, swallowing my gasps and moans as the tingling turns into a full fledged burn that sears through every part of me. My body doesn’t feel like its my own anymore, and I can hardly breathe under the intensity in which it continues to seize and release.

Finally, when I was just about to think the buzz that had been tearing through me would never end, it does. I’m left panting and limp, with Peeta’s solid body being the only thing keeping me upright. When he falls back onto the mattress, I go with him, making no effort to move to my side of the bed. I lay on top of him, drifting in and out of a light sleep, and this is where I plan to stay until sunrise.

  
  



	2. Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final three nights of the Victory Tour bring new experiences for Katniss and Peeta.

I never thought I could become so familiar with a body that wasn't my own. There are times when I think I may now be more familiar with Peeta’s body than I have ever been with my own. I know what the reflection in the mirror shows when I stand naked in front of it, of course. Small breasts, dark skin, the patch of coarse hair between my legs that seemed to sprout overnight. However, it’s the more intimate facets that still evade me.

I’ve learned things about Peeta’s body over the last ten days that I’ve never known about myself. I learned one night that only his left hip is ticklish as I let my fingers roam over his skin while I stroked his erection. The moan that turned into a laugh is a sound that I seem to hear now every time I close my eyes. Sometimes, while we lie in the dark, I like to skim my fingers over the area to hear that laugh again. I've also learned that it doesn’t matter how many times I've made him come the night before, he will always be hard again first thing in the morning. There have even been mornings when my hands have found their way to those morning erections and worked him to completion moments before Effie raps on the door to rouse us. I even know that while my hand is wrapped around his length, rubbing across the rigid length, nothing makes him fall apart faster than the moment I tighten my grip at the base of his erection.

We’ve hardly slept the entire tour. I can’t blame the nightmares, they don’t hit nearly as often as they do back home when I’m all alone in my bed. Peeta’s protective embrace seems to keep me calm enough to keep the worst of the terrors away in the few moments of rest that do come. But more often than not, when we try to sleep, it’s only a matter of time before Peeta’s hands feel as though they’re searing my skin. The urge to feel those hands, those fingers, touch me in other places takes over, and it’s only a matter of time before my own hands take on a life all their own and I want nothing more than to feel Peeta stiff in my hands. To see his stomach rolling like waves from his ragged and hurried breaths. And the need to explore is only growing stronger by the night.

I think Haymitch knows. Between district stops and during meals, Peeta and I are constantly subjected to sideways glances from him. Looks that say, _“I know what you’re up to.”_ or worse, _“I’ve heard you.”_ We stay as silent as we can, but these walls are thin and we aren't always quiet. A fact that I only seem to think or care about while being subjected to Haymitch's scrutinizing looks.

Because of this, I’ve taken to never letting Peeta out of my sight. Haymitch would never bring it up with me in the room, but he is probably itching to corner Peeta the first chance he gets. If he has no opportunities to confront Peeta, the conversation will never have to happen during this tour. I can’t stay glued to Peeta once we’re home, though. I don’t want to think about what will happen once we’re home.

Effie, it seems, is clueless. She’s too busy worrying about the message Peeta and I sleeping in the same bed sends to notice that the message being sent is what's actually happening. It’s during these lectures that I periodically glance to Haymitch and see what looks like the poorest attempts at hiding smiles I’ve ever seen. A smile that erupts into a full blown laugh the morning I almost follow Peeta right into the bathroom trying to ensure that Haymitch can’t catch him alone.

Peeta and I never talk about that happens between us at night. With so many people around us on high alert, and our days filled with speeches, meetings, and traveling, there’s no safe moment to utter a word about it.

But the first time Peeta’s tongue touches me in my most sensitive spots, and I let his name fall from my lips in a way I never have before, it says more than anything either of us could assert, even if we tried.

Our patterns have evolved over the last few days. Where we once took turns on each other, reveling in the sights and sounds the other makes and trying to discover ways to induce even more pleasure on each other, we started finding ways to touch each other at the same time. We no longer revel in the sounds we make on our own, but the sounds we make together.

I learned very quickly that staying completely silent was never going to be a possibility. For the most part, we keep our voices low enough so we know they’re just between us. But every so often, one of us will have to remind the other to be quieter. Despite everything that I know about myself, I find these reminders more amusing than dangerous. It’s just enough to bring a smile to my lips, keeping the intensity that I so often feel while with Peeta from swallowing me whole.

Tonight, while Peeta and I lay on our sides, my ass pressed into his groin, we found a slow and comfortable rhythm. His arm was draped over my waist, fingers trailing sleepily across my skin. He traced the curve of my hip, dipping lower and lower until he slipped them between my folds and lavished the sensitive bud there with the gentlest attention and causing a need for release so agonizing and desperate, I didn’t know how I would spend another minute waiting for the moment when my body lost all control.

With our bodies positioned back to front, I was able to stimulate Peeta without even having to use my hands; simply driving my ass back against his erection was enough. Each time I crush my back side against him, he elicits rounds of whispered moans into my ear that I so wanted to hear.

But it wasn’t enough. I wanted my hands on Peeta. I wanted his fingers to explore deeper. Neither could  happen comfortably as long as we were lying the way we were. We tried, but soon, our arms became tangled and tired. Even when Peeta moved his arm back and pushed his fingers into me from behind, it didn’t feel right. And somehow, without having to speak a word, Peeta knew.

I was prepared to simply turn to face him. That way I could easily reach between us a take him in my hand. I wasn’t prepared for Peeta to move away from me entirely. He settled himself in a sitting position between my legs and pulled me up to sit with him. He pushed my hair from my face and cupped my cheek, running his thumb across the area. I reached for him first. After scooting in closer, I was able to easily wrap my hand around his erection. I’ve never looked at his face much while doing this, but  it was so present I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. And he didn’t do a thing to take his eyes off of me. Not even when his fingers found their way to my center, and he resumed his relaxed teasing.

There was something about the way he looked at me that made me feel restless. A heavy-lidded and fiery gaze that would not let up no matter how I touched him. And then he stopped everything and whispered for me to lie back down. I wasn’t sure what was happening. Why would he stop? I wondered if he was upset about something, but it made no sense. It wasn’t until he moved onto his stomach, his head situated between my legs, asking me gently if it was okay for him to be there that I began to understand why he was asking me that question.

My whole body tensed up when the realization hit me. I wasn’t uncomfortable with the idea of his mouth on me. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was curious to find out what it felt like, but it didn’t stop the nervous energy that surged through my body at the thought of it. I nodded to let him know it was okay, and he held my gaze for a long time before his head disappeared between my legs and I felt his warm breath spread across my inner thigh.

Next were his lips, burning hot against my skin. He lingered for so long, trailing kisses up and down both thighs, sucking lightly at the spots his lips had just been. I began to wonder if that was all he was planning on doing all night.

It was when I was in mid-thought that I felt that first swipe of his tongue cover the length of my middle, causing every thought I’d had all evening to disappear. His tongue was so much softer, so much warmer than his fingers. The light tickling that it left as it passed between my folds had me whimpering a sound that eventually turned into Peeta’s name being whispered over and over.

And now, as nervous as I was for him to begin, I don’t want him to stop.

When he gets finally shifts his attention to the sensitive bud at my core and gently sucks on it, I lose all sense. I thought I was desperate for release before. Now I’m practically begging for it. However, the only word I can see to form is Peeta’s name. I recite it over and over like a song and twirl my fingers through his hair softly to keep him from moving away from me.

I can tell Peeta is surprised at my response by something that flickers in his eyes when he looks up at me from between my legs. I look back at him, hoping the look I give him back is enough to tell him that he’s doing everything right tonight, and it won’t be long before I finally feel the release I’ve been hoping for all night.

The look we exchanged seems to have given Peeta a wave of confidence. His hand ghosts up my stomach toward chest and cups my breast. His fingers toy with my nipple, squeezing it in time with each suck he makes against my middle.

It’s the combination of Peeta sucking on my nerve and flicking his tongue over it at the same time that finally brings me to the point of no return. Before I can stop myself, my thighs clench around Peeta’s head and I ride the crest of my orgasm with Peeta’s mouth still working swiftly.

My apology afterward is met with a tickled smile before Peeta’s lips find mine. There’s still a hint of what I imagine is me on his tongue and lips. I find that it sends a delightful shudder up my back, filling me with an urgent need to bring him to the brink the same way he did for me.

As with everything else, I have no explanation for my desires. I gave up trying to explain or understand the things I’ve done on this tour, and I’m not about to start trying again now.

The calm state my body has been left in after my orgasm spurs me forward. With my hands planted firmly on Peeta’s chest and our kisses growing more and more frantic, I push him. But my hands only meet the solid plane with resistance.

“What are you doing?” Peeta asks, breaking the kiss.

I don’t answer. I drop my gaze when I feel a wave of embarrassment wash over me at the thought of Peeta rejecting my advances. And for a brief second, I'm angry. When I look back up to his eyes, though, I see confusion there, not denial. Then I see something register and he shakes his head.

“You don’t have to do it, Katniss,” Peeta starts. “I’m not expecting anything in return. I did that because I wanted to make you feel good.”

I narrow my eyes at Peeta. How could he still think that I would do something like this for any reason other than pure desire? There are no cameras in here with us, and even if there were, this isn't something I would ever share with the entire country.

Is it?

I think about that moment during the games when a kiss between Peeta and I began to intensify. I felt those very same desires burning in my chest that I’ve felt here in this room. What could have happened in the cave that night if Peeta hadn’t stopped that kiss? Is it possible that I could have become so carried away that the cameras we both knew to be there would’ve become an afterthought?

“I know I don’t have to,” I say, pushing away the thoughts. I focus my eyes on Peeta sharply. “But what if I want to?”

Peeta’s eyes scour my face, eyebrows knit together in confusion and what I fear is worry. “You want to?”

I nod. “I want to.”

I push on Peeta’s chest again, and after a second of resistance, he finally relents. His body falls back against the bed as I scoot between his legs. For the first time, I start to feel nervous. I don't know what I'm doing. What if I do something wrong? What if he doesn't Iike it? I drive every thought I have about failing at this and focus on Peeta’s erection. I’ve almost committed every inch and curve of it to memory. But knowing the perfect spot to curl my fingers around him won’t help me now. The secret knowledge of knowing that the soft pad of my thumb rubbing the tip of his arousal means nothing when it’s my mouth that'll be doing the work.

Suddenly I’m struck with an idea that enables me to ignore the bubbling nervousness and proceed. I catch Peeta’s eyes one more time. The half-lidded stare looking back at me, waiting, manages to give me that final boost of confidence. I lean my body down and bring my mouth close to his erection.

Slowly, I move even closer until I can reach him with my tongue. Before I can think too much about it, I press my tongue against the tip of Peeta’s aching need. I begin to move it in the same circular pattern I would use to trail my thumb across his head if I were using my hands. I take Peeta’s moan as a sign that I’ve done something right, so I continue.

I spend several minutes in the same spot, lavishing the area and becoming accustomed to what Peeta feels like against my tongue. The strangled moan Peeta emits when he watches my tongue circle the slit, and I taste the mild sweetness of the clear fluid that has begun to collect there affects me even more than the act itself. It pushes me to move further down, sliding my tongue up and down Peeta’s length until I’m certain that I haven’t missed an inch.

It takes some time for me to work up the nerve, but eventually I work my way back up to the tip. Even though, if his moans are any indication, Peeta is enjoying himself, I know this isn’t enough. I bring the tip of my tongue back through the wetness that’s appeared again one last time before lowering my mouth over the head and wrapping my lips around it.

The change in Peeta’s demeanor is instant. His quiet, breathy moans become gravelly. The further I draw him into my mouth, the more they begin to sound like growls.  When I reach a point where I can’t possibly take him into my mouth any further, Peeta’s hands find their way to my head. He brushes my hair away from my face tenderly and then removes his hand, shifting to prop himself up on his elbows to watch me.

The sight I see when I look up at him is almost breathtaking. His eyes are trained on me fiercely, but there’s more there. They’re soft, and he’s shaking his head back and forth as if he’s awed that this is even happening. I resist the urge to remove my mouth from him to ask him what he's thinking. I'm not sure I'm prepared to hear what his answer may be.

I suppress the nerves that have begun to rise again and drop my gaze from Peeta. I begin to pull my mouth back, stopping abruptly at Peeta’s hiss when my teeth make contact. I lightly caress his stomach, the only apology I can offer right now and try again, being more careful to keep my lips on him as I move to release him from my mouth. I start from the beginning again, and when I move back in to take him in, his words echo in my mind, _“I wanted to make you feel good.”_

I keep the words tucked away at the front of my mind while I find a rhythm. After some time, I begin alternating from sucking on Peeta’s length and taking time to cover the tip with my tongue. I think I’ve finally acclimated myself to doing this. Though it’s not something I ever thought about doing, and I know I’m not exactly skilled at any of it, I’ve done plenty this week that I haven’t done or imagined doing, especially on this tour. An odd sense of pride bubbles in my stomach when I think about it.

Peeta begins to twist his hips firmly underneath me, muttering unintelligible words before he finally manages to say my name.

“Katniss,” he croaks, breathless. “I’m gonna…”

I pull my mouth from Peeta and watch him take hold of his erection. He gives himself a few strokes and within seconds of me tearing my mouth away, his orgasm takes over. His body shudders and empties over his hand and stomach.

I’m not sure there’s anything I’ve enjoyed more these nights on tour than watching Peeta come. There’s something about the way his body moves. But I especially find it arousing to see the way his erection seems to pulse in order to get every last drop of come out. It’s almost scary how much I enjoy watching it happen.

Peeta kisses me deeply before getting out of bed to clean himself up. As always, I follow him and watch him do that, too. Afterward, we climb into bed, ignoring the pile of our pajamas on the floor. There’s no need to dress. Nobody comes into this room unannounced since Peeta started staying in here. Part of me has to wonder if that’s Haymitch’s doing.

I curl up in Peeta’s arms, my chest pressing against his, and close my eyes. It won’t be long before sleep claims me, but I doubt either one of us will sleep through the night.

The final two days of our tour have come up fast. Neither one of us slept well the night before our stop in the Capitol.

We tried to calm each other slowly, taking our time as we worked over each other’s bodies. Peeta’s tongue and mouth covered every inch of me that he could reach. His teeth found my nipples and he spent an ample amount of time there, nipping, sucking, tracing the taut nubs with the tip of his tongue. The inferno it caused inside of me consumed my entire being.

He did the same between my legs, moving in an idle and lingering fashion, using both his mouth and fingers on me. He seemed far more confident than he was the night before, even dipping his tongue into my center. The surprising pleasure it brought to me forced me to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out loudly.

I'd lost all train of thought and, for the moment, all worries seemed to vanish while Peeta worked me into blissful oblivion. Even after my orgasm had subsided, Peeta continued to cover my body with soft kisses. Each kiss felt as though he was whispering into my skin, leaving behind a trail of warm words that made my need for him so great that I practically tore his pants trying to remove them.

I wasn’t the only one enjoying Peeta’s deliberate, almost artful adulation of my body. He was so hard when I took him into my mouth that night, and I made sure to move just as slowly as he had so he wouldn’t come too soon.

I remembered the way Peeta wrapped his hand around himself the night before, and I tried the same thing as I took him further into my mouth. And after I’d spent just as much time on him as he did on me, pouring over his length with my mouth, licking every inch, and using my hand to stroke him at the same time, it was _my_ fingers that were covered with his come after he finished -- the way it should be.

But as we settled in for the night, it wasn’t long before the same worries began to plague me. Having to face President Snow, newly engaged, and having to act as if he hadn’t threatened the safety of my family and my best friend was a task I would never be ready to take on.

Even after all the worries the night before the party, nothing could have prepared me for the moment Snow’s gaze lingered on me and he subtly shook his head, _“No.”_

I felt my blood run cold with his one simple gesture. We’d failed. No, Peeta was perfect. _I_ failed, and as a result everyone connected to us was now in danger.

After the party, the train speeds off toward District 12 just after midnight. The sound of Effie’s shrill voice extolling the party and President Snow sends me into a tailspin. I rise from my seat and announce loudly that I’m going to bed, making no effort to hide the fact that I’m taking Peeta with me. There is no laughter from Haymitch following us tonight.

The door to my room hasn’t even finished closing before my lips crash into Peeta’s. He makes a surprised noise from the back of his throat but kisses me back in earnest. I can’t think about what happened tonight. I need something to take my mind off of everything, if only for a little while. I need something that makes me feel good. I need Peeta.

Our pace is the opposite of what it was last night. I can’t seem to peel off my dress fast enough. We fall onto the bed and I begin to work on Peeta’s pants as he pulls off his jacket and shirt. Effie would surely lecture us if she saw the way we were practically ripping these party clothes from our bodies and hurling them across the room.

Peeta’s still soft when I pull him from his pants. I take him into my mouth eagerly, able to take him much deeper this way. And as I suck on him, I can feel him getting harder in my mouth. I’ve never sucked him into arousal before, and I’m finding it’s causing that familiar ache between my legs despite Peeta never having touched me yet tonight.

The sounds of Peeta’s moans cause me to pull away from his erection. I’m not ready for him to come yet. It's too soon. Under a confused gaze from Peeta, I climb on top of him and straddle his hips. My middle covers his erection when I settle down on top of him, and I sigh in relief at how delicious the contact feels.

Being able to feel Peeta pressed against me is welcoming, and a fire grows inside me as I begin to grind my hips forward. His length slips through my folds, coating him with my need as I quicken th pace. I feel his strong hand cup and squeeze my breast as soft groans pour from his lips. His face takes on a wide-eyed, slack jawed expression. But even for as much as I'm enjoying this, none of it feels like enough. I realize that it never will until Peeta is finally moving inside me.

I lean forward, grabbing hold of Peeta’s hand that covers my breast. I plant a kiss on his lips and roll off of him, settling my back against the cool mattress and pulling on Peeta’s arm. He understands what I’m asking and he rolls of top of me. As he begins to descend my body, moving toward my middle, I stop him. Feeling Peeta’s mouth embrace me isn’t something I could ever truly resist, not after having the pleasure of knowing just how good it could be. But tonight I need more than that, and the aching I feel won't stop until I get it.

With my fingers just under Peeta’s chin, I lure him back up toward my mouth and welcome his tongue inside. As our kisses grow hungrier, I spread my legs and position my hips close to Peeta’s. My hope is that he’ll understand what I want when I reach down and attempt to guide his erection toward my center. But Peeta places his hand over mine, stopping me.

“Katniss?” he says, his eyes searching my face for an answer.

“Please,” I murmur wiggling my hips even closer. I can feel his erection pressing against my middle now. Dropping my hand, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down into another kiss, keeping him close when we’re done. “I want to.”

Peeta still doesn’t move. Suddenly I wonder if he even wants to do this. I take a deep breath and rush the question out on the exhale.

“Do you want to?” I ask.

I see Peeta’s face soften. The confused expression disappears and he closes his eyes. He inhales deeply through his nose and nods.

“Then please,” I whisper again, my lips brushing against his.

I watch Peeta’s every move with nervous anticipation. He pulls away and sits back on his haunches, wrapping his hand around his length. My eyes stay glued to the sight as Peeta strokes himself. He seems hesitant. So when his eyes find mine, I nod sharply. Telling him again that this is what I want.

Then I feel Peeta’s fingers on me, slipping through the wetness. He fans out his fingers, spreading my folds before pressing the tip of his erection at my entrance.

With a strong and shuddering breath, Peeta slowly begins to move forward. I gasp loudly when I feel his head advance and he begins to stretch me and wince as an uncomfortable pinching engulfs my middle, stopping Peeta in his tracks.

My hands find his hips quickly and I grip them, running the pads of my thumbs and forefingers over his skin tenderly.

“I’m okay,” I insist, pulling on his hips. “Keep going.”

I keep my hands on Peeta’s hips while he begins to advance again, and whenever I feel I need a minute I press against them so he knows to stop. With my cues, we work together, the sounds of our hard and ragged breathing filling the room.

After some time, Peeta is halfway inside of me. I gasp again when I feel him begin to pull himself out. Not in pain, but in shock. Does he want to stop?

But he doesn’t, because soon I feel him pushing back in. The pressure is still there, but it’s a little easier to focus on what it feels like to have Peeta inside me. The way he stretches me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Despite the pain, I find that I like it. I feel full in a way that’s different than having too much lamb stew, and each time Peeta pulls back and pushes back into me, the discomfort lessens.

Still, this isn’t quite what I was expecting. I don’t feel my release building like I hoped I would, but it’s not bad. The throbbing at my core hasn’t let up at all, and I can feel my wetness dripping down my backside, making it a little easier for Peeta to move in and out.

Peeta’s thumb on my throbbing nerve causes an unexpected shock to surge through my body. He begins to rub the spot and finally, I start to feel my release mounting. I want to thank him for somehow knowing that I needed more. His thrusts inside me now are slow, shallow, and not entirely painful anymore. This, plus his thumb’s movements over my nerve have taken me to the next level at last. I feel like I’m standing just at the edge, waiting for the final stroke that will push me just beyond it.

To my surprise, it’s Peeta suddenly speeding up the timing of his thrusts that finally pushes me over that edge. It feels different to climax with him inside of me. Each time a ripple wracks my body, I can feel my walls clench his erection and then release it.

This causes Peeta to come undone not long after me. With a trembling groan, he pulls himself out and comes low on my stomach, shaking as each throb causes more to spill onto my skin. The warmth seeps into me and somehow brings a sense of calm with it. Peeta moves back and sits between my legs, a silence falling between us that feels foreign after what we’ve done together.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up,” Peeta mutters, shifting his body.

“No,” I say, reaching for him. “Just stay.”

I pull Peeta back to me and we huddle close together, not caring about the mess of our coupling. The only thing I want right now is to feel Peeta’s warmth and steadiness with hopes that it’ll ward off both the nightmares and the thoughts of what could happen when we get home tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to ichooseupeetachu for all her help and cheer-leading! Come hang out with me on Tumblr, I'm mellarksloaves.


	3. Frozen Slippers and Damp Pant Legs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that "THE END" at the end of part two? Just kidding! The idea for a third part to this story came to me at 2am one night while I was trying to sleep and I knew I had to start writing it, right then and there.

The sound of the shower's stream crashing down against the sand-toned tiles is hypnotic. I step in, interrupting the almost rhythmic cadence and allow the steam that's rising to engulf me. The scalding water pelts my back and rolls across my skin. I welcome the sensation in hopes that it'll replace the traces of heat that Peeta's fingers and lips left behind on my body. There are no marks on my skin, but I can still feel his fingers on me like they've been imprinted there for eternity. It's as though the tips of his fingers are still digging into my hips, pulling my body back to meet his heedless thrusts. Every spot along my back where he dropped open mouthed kisses and nipped at my skin with his teeth are on fire and have been long before the water ever touched me. 

It's been seven days since the Victory Tour's last stop. Seven days since the Capitol train pulled away and left me and Peeta in District 12 once again. Seven days without sleep. Seven days of staring out of my bedroom window, waiting to see Peeta's bedroom light flicker on at 2am sharp and the first floor of his house light up shortly after. 

I was halfway to his house in the dead of night before I realized that one week of trying to resist going to him was all that I could stand. The night replays in my mind on a loop now, becoming clearer each time. 

_The window seat underneath my bedroom window has become my place of solace at night. Long after Prim and my mother have gone to bed, I remain awake. The living room is too quiet and the study brings back memories I don’t dare think of. I spent the first two nights awake in the kitchen, parked in the chair nearest to the oven that I turned up to a scorching five-hundred degrees. I basked in the warmth that emanated from the front while I drank kettle after kettle of tea._

_The relaxation was almost enough, at first. My thoughts didn’t wander to the dangers that were now facing my family or those nights with Peeta on the train. The bright fluorescent lighting in the kitchen ensured I wouldn’t fall asleep and wake the house with my screams when the nightmares hit. But after two nights of that, the novelty wore off and the same feelings of unease returned. And from that day forward, I’ve taken to curling into this window seat in the dark. I sit curled under my comforter now, my head propped up against the cold glass of the window. My eyes go in and out of focus as I watch the snowflakes flutter down from the blackened sky._

_The light from Peeta’s bedroom window catches my eye, and I look just in time to see his silhouette behind the thin curtains. He’s slouching slightly, and he appears to have his arms tucked in close to his chest. I jump in my seat when his silhouette unexpectedly walks closer to the window. But the curtains barely move. All I see are his hands forcing the window closed. Even the sight of his shadow brings me back to the train immediately and stays with me long after Peeta’s form has disappeared from the window._

_Soon, and as I’ve done for the last five nights, I begin wondering what it was that pulled Peeta from his bed again. Was he still struggling to find sleep? Does he roam around his house the way he roamed around the train during the early stops on the tour? Or was it worse than that? Had he finally managed to pull himself from the darkness of a nightmare and was too afraid to go back to sleep -- like me?_

_After five nights of the same thing, you’d think I’d learn my lesson. Leave the window, slip in bed, and spend the hours until sunrise staring at the ceiling. It was easier. Safer. But the harder I tried to will myself out of the window seat, the more insistent my body was to stay there watching the lit windows on Peeta’s first floor for any sign of him. Height and distance are not forgiving, though. Beyond the occasional shadow moving across the half drawn curtains, I’ve yet to see a thing._

_A few times this week, after I’ve managed to pull myself away from from the window and slip into bed, I tried to recreate the way Peeta’s hands felt on my body. With hopes that I’d be able to find the contented rest I managed on the train, I’d let my hands roam. Caressing, rubbing, and tweaking all of the places that Peeta’s fingers managed to find to coax his name from my lips and a trembling completion throughout my body._

_It never feels the same as it did with Peeta.  In the dark bedroom, I’d screw my eyes shut and whisper his name, trying to beckon the feelings his touch incited. I’d bring myself to the brink and let myself fall, no longer whispering but panting his name into a pillow with each shiver of bliss that ran across my skin. But the serenity never came._

_I’m not even going to bother trying tonight. I’ll sit by this window, knowing that I’d be far better off away from it, and wait for a glimpse of him that I shouldn't be craving. The consequences of my failure to convince President Snow would be coming for us soon enough, and we agreed that what happened on the train couldn’t continue at home._

_And then suddenly, he's there. In the window, framed by the golden hue of the living room lights. My breath hitches in my throat as I watch him stare out of the window at the snow that’s started to fall harder. The light from Peeta’s window illuminates the smallest section of ground, and when the strong wind kicks up, the snow dances across the concrete in a motion that’s almost too fluid to believe. The flakes swirl around each other in perfect synchronization like they’re part of a choreographed dance._

_“Please leave the window, Peeta,” I whisper, my breath leaving a fog on the window._

_I never expected to see more than his shadow. Even when I tried to see through the windows into his kitchen I never expected to actually see him. And now that I have, the need I have to go to him pulls at me like I’m a fish caught on an invisible hook while an unseen force reels me in._

_I bunch up the comforter and throw it onto my bed on my way out of the bedroom, descending the steps with the quickest pace I can manage while still remaining quiet. My coat and boots stay put at the entrance of the house, and it’s not until I’m standing frozen on the path between mine and Peeta’s houses that I realize I came out here in my slippers and nothing but a thin, long sleeved shirt and pajama pants._

_It’s a good excuse to turn around. Go back into my house and stay there until the sun rises and I can slip away into the woods for the day. Peeta’s gone from the window now. He’d never know I was out here. He'd never know I was considering going to him. I know that’s the right decision, but the longer I stand here with the snow whipping around my body and the wind cutting through me like knives, the less I want to make the right decision. And so, with chattering teeth and snow covered slippers, I continue forward to Peeta’s house and tap on the door as lightly as I can and hope that he hears it._

_The door is pulled open in a hurry. For a second, I want to run, but my legs ignore my thoughts and stay firmly planted on the porch while my eyes give Peeta a once over. Light sweatpants, white undershirt, sleep tousled hair. And his hands. Those hands that spent most of those nights on the train touching me in places I never knew I wanted touched are now covered in flour from the tips of his fingers to the middle of his forearm._

_“Haymitch, I already told you I don’t have--”_

_I don’t wait for him to finish his sentence. My arms are around his neck and pulling his lips down to mine without a second thought. His words muffle and disappear in my mouth, replaced a second later by his tongue. I meet him eagerly, basking in how good it feels to be consumed by him again -- until he stops._

_There are so many questions, I know. But he doesn’t ask a single one. He only searches my eyes for the answers and all I can do is hope that he’s able to find them there. And just as the silence is filling me with a hollowness even greater than before, Peeta grabs my arm and pulls me into his house._

_The rest happens in a blur. His body pushing me back against the door, his mouth covering mine again, and flour covered hands cupping my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks as we devour each other. But those hands seem to have a need to touch me just as much as I crave them to, and it’s not long before my cheeks are feeling cold in their absence only to feel their warmth on my breasts through the thin fabric of my night shirt._

_This. This is what I’ve needed. His touch that sets my skin on fire and his mouth that breathes life back into me, reminding me that I’m still alive._

_When I push him forward in the direction of the stairs, he responds by grabbing my waist and spinning me around. His hands stay firmly planted on my hips as he walks me backwards, but just when I expect to hit the stairs he veers me off into the living room, stops, and captures my lips again._

_His next movements are slow, calculated, and silent. Pulling his hands from my waist, he drops to his knees and goes straight for the slippers on my feet. They’re soaked through, and it’s not until he begins to pull one off that I realize that I can hardly feel my toes. He pulls off the second slipper and sets both in front of the roaring fireplace next to us. Words rise up in my throat and I croak out the only thing I can think of to fill the silence._

_“It’s snowing…”_

_“I noticed,” Peeta replies, placing one hand over my bare foot while the other checks the bottom of my pants._

_Of course they’re soaked through, too. The cold, wet fabric extends up to my calf and I look down at Peeta, knowing that we’re both thinking the same thing._

_“Should probably dry these too,” he utters, clearing his throat when his voice hitches. “I can get you a pair of mine to wear if you want…”_

_“Sure. Thanks,” I say with a nod, licking what remains of him from my lips._

_But he doesn’t make a move to retrieve a dry pair of pants. He only watches me hook my fingers into my waistband and slide the wet pants down my thighs. Eventually, he reaches out and takes the pants, setting them next to the slippers in front of the fire. And then he’s right back in front of me, still unwilling to leave._

_His brief moment of weakness seems to have passed. He won’t touch me again if I don’t ask him to. I know this. There’s no doubt that he’s thinking about our talk after the tour. And unless I do something, something that’ll confirm what both of us are thinking -- that we’ll never be able to go hungry again now that we’ve had a taste of each other -- we’ll stay this way all night._

_I move first and make sure Peeta’s looking at me when I start to shimmy out of my underwear. His eyes follow the trail my hands make down my thighs and finally meet mine when I kneel down in front of him and take his hand. Leaning forward, I find his ear._

_“Touch me again, Peeta,” I whisper, letting go of his hand. “I want you to.”_

_The next move is his to decide, and he takes his time. His hand stays hovering between us while the sound of the crackling fire behind us drowns out the sounds of my breathing. Then he makes his move. He’s no longer lingering, and he’s anything but hesitant. His hand disappears between my legs and his fingers are sliding between my folds in a way that’s no longer unknown. My body is familiar to him now and I allow myself to show him just how much I’ve needed his touch._

_In that dark compartment on the train, the thought of giving myself over to the thrill of our actions was terrifying at first. Every move I made was met with my own judgement. How did I sound? Was I being too loud? What if guiding his hand back to my swollen nerve or his mouth to my nipple was too much? But I soon learned it was only myself doing the judging. And when I rise up higher on my knees to allow Peeta’s fingers to tease my center, his sigh as his fingers push into me is all I need to hear to leave those fears behind for the night._

_It’s me that reaches for the hem of Peeta’s shirt and forces it over his head and to the floor. It’s me who lies back against the carpeted floor to allow Peeta’s fingers to go deeper, so I can feel the pads of each digit push against my walls when he curls them, and I have to bite my lip to keep myself from crying out at the delicious, throbbing pressure that builds with his movements._

_But I can feel something else building, too. A yearning that exceeds anything I’ve ever felt before. Greater than the need I felt for him on the train, greater than the longing I felt for him at home. And I can feel that same yearning in the way Peeta touches me now. He teases me with his fingers as though he’s been thinking about it for days. And as he flicks his thumb against my nerve, my only thoughts are of him in this house, locked away from the world while his hand runs up and down his length, his eyes screwed shut as he tries desperately to find a release that’ll bring him rest -- just like I’ve been doing for the last week._

_It’s now that I truly realize that we’ll never be able to go back. We’ve taken steps that can never be untaken and brought upon a need for each other that’s so great, the thought of not having him is terrifying. But I refuse to think about that right now. Not when Peeta’s fingers have me so close to the release I’ve been searching for._

_He keeps my legs trapped under his arms to stop me from squirming too far from his reach and curls his fingers again, adding to the pressure that’s building between my legs. The more he does it, the less I’m able to keep the sounds trapped behind my lips, and our eyes meet when I let out a noticeably loud moan. Though his expression doesn’t change, there’s a determination in Peeta’s eyes that bores into me, daring me to look away -- but I don’t. I won’t._

_My eyes are still locked on his when I feel the rush of throbbing culminate and burst at my core, traveling in spastic waves down my legs and to my toes. My body collapses against the floor as the last of my release subsides and Peeta slips his hand out from between my legs, trailing it up my thigh and down my leg._

_He stays silent, but his hands continue to drift higher until they’re both resting on my hips and he eases my lower half up just enough to coax my body to turn onto my stomach. Quickly, he follows by straddling my legs and pushing my shirt up, easing it over my head before dropping his head down to my neck._

_One kiss against the crook of my neck turns into two, and then a third placed a little lower than the first two. He continues this pattern and leaves a hot trail all the way down my back until he’s off my legs completely and has moved far enough down to reach my ass. His hands squeeze once and then slide to the front, gently lifting my lower half up so that I’m on my knees and completely exposed to him._

_I gasp when his mouth is suddenly on me, warm and covering my center while his tongue laps at the wetness that’s been steadily gathering all night. I can’t be sure, but I think I hear a satisfied moan rumble from the back of his throat as he drinks me in, and I return it with fervor, enjoying how every part of me is enveloped by his mouth. Then, just as suddenly as that mouth was there, it’s gone and I’m left with a cold ache that has nothing to do with frozen slippers and damp pant legs._

_Peeta doesn’t give me time to think. Just as I’m starting to move out of the position he put me into, his hands are gripping my hips to keep me there, and I’m grateful. I refuse to let my thoughts gets the best of me. I’ll have plenty of time later to wonder how foolish I looked hoisted up on my knees in the middle of Peeta’s living room floor. But for now, all I want is to focus on the strong hands that are now squeezing my hips and ass, and the hardness that I can feel pressing against me through his pants. I press back against it, eliciting a hiss from Peeta that gives me the courage to continue doing it until we’re working on tandem. I push back against him as he simultaneously pulls and squeezes my hips._

_I don’t look back when I feel one of his hands let go of me, and I’m not surprised when I finally feel him -- all of him -- rubbing against my ass. The barrier of his cotton pants are gone now, and it’s just skin on skin while we continue in our back and forth motion, but this time Peeta’s moves are less erratic and more precise. His erection finds a place in the cleft of my ass. He slides it through the space in slow, teasing thrusts, and I find myself enjoying the sensation more than I ever expected to._

_The slow rhythm that Peeta has worked our bodies into falls apart when the feeling of his arousal sliding across my skin causes me to drive back against him harder and harder. I can’t figure out what it is that makes it feel so good, but it does. And the huffing breaths coming from Peeta’s mouth only eggs me on._

_Peeta’s next transition is almost seamless. One minute he’s pulling me back, sliding his erection between my ass, the next he’s pushed him length down near my center. And in one backwards thrust from me, he enters me and I cry out at the sudden feeling of him filling me._

_It doesn’t hurt much. Not like it did the first time or even the second time the morning we arrived home, just before the train pulled into the District 12 station. But there’s a little discomfort as I get used to him being inside of me again. Peeta guides me, pulling my hips toward him and pushing them away, slowly at first so I can get used to his girth and then faster as my walls begin to relax around him and I join him once more._

_There’s something about the sounds all around me that only add to my growing arousal. My voice mingling with Peeta’s, neither of us forced to keep our whimpers low and stifled this time. It creates a delicious melody throughout the room, accompanied by the sounds of skin on skin each time Peeta pulls my hips back to meet him. I can feel my legs growing weaker as we move, but I don’t want this to end. The grip Peeta has on me and the angle that I’m lying in has him hitting all of the right spots._

_I can feel another climax building, and with each thrust Peeta makes, the deeper he seems to go. Without thinking, my hand dips underneath me to my front, and I tease my swollen nerve as Peeta drives into me. With the added stimulation from my fingers, I reach the edge quickly, my voice a mixture of heaving sighs and whimpering moans. I try to stay up on my knees, but after several particularly forceful thrusts my legs give out and I’m completely flat on my stomach on the floor. Peeta slows down immediately and lowers his body down against my back, holding himself up with his arms._

_“You ok?” He whispers in my ear._

_“Yes,” I breathe, writhing underneath him and enjoying how tight my grip seems to be on him at this new angle. “Keep going.”_

_My confirmation to continue is all he needs, but his quick pace has slowed and he stays hovered over me, nipping at my ear as he moves inside me. His hands find mine on the floor and our fingers link together before he squeezes my hands hard._

_It’s as if he’s afraid to let me go, and I completely understand why. I have no interest in letting him go, either. But I can tell Peeta’s close to finishing. I’ve become very familiar with the way his breathing grows more rapid the closer he gets to reaching his climax. Many nights in that dark compartment, it was the only thing that told me he was about to come, because telling me himself and holding his satisfied moans in were too much for him to do at once._

_And he’s very close now. Those rapid breaths are mixed with the some of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard, amplified due to the fact that his mouth is still hovering close to my ear. But we both know once it happens, reality will creep its way back in soon after, so his grip remains tight on my hands as he tries to preserve this frozen moment in time before it slips away again._

_Though I’m expecting it, I still feel empty when I feel Peeta suddenly pulls himself out of me. There’s a warmth on my lower back where he spills onto me, and his groans are far more subdued than I expected them to be. Louder than they were on the train, but still held back by tight lips that refuse to let the sounds escape._

_Something keeps me rooted to the floor. It’s not Peeta, and it’s not the fact that my legs are still weak. There’s something else, something that isn’t physical. I hear Peeta behind me. He’s shuffling with something, but I don’t look back. It’s not until he starts to walk out of the living room that I realize he’s put his pants back on. And yet.. I still don’t move. I rest my head on my arms and close my eyes, feeling drowsy for the first time in days._

_I hear Peeta climb the stairs, and I hear his heavy footsteps in the room above me -- his room. And then they move further to the back of the house before I can finally hear the footsteps growing louder and he comes back into the living room, a crooked smile on his face when I crack my eyes open to look at him._

_“I brought you some dry clothes,” he says, holding up the pair of pants and undershirt in one hand, and a damp wash cloth in the other. “And something to clean you up with.”_

_He takes it upon himself to wipe down my back, another thing we’re both familiar with from those nights on the train. This time though he takes his time. I turn around to watch him trail a clean corner of the cloth over the curve of my ass and back up again before I hear a slight chuckle escape from his mouth._

_“What?” I ask._

_He pulls me up to sit. “You’ve got flour on your cheeks,” he says, swiping his damp thumb over each one. “Sorry about that.”_

_“Why were you making bread this early anyway?” I ask, pulling the fresh shirt over my head. Pants can wait._

_Peeta shrugs. “Bakers hours. I’ve been abiding by them more and more lately.”_

_“Because you can’t sleep,” I murmur._

_“Yeah.” He gathers the shirt I arrived in and sets it down by the fireplace with the rest of my stuff, though it’s only slightly wet from the snow that fell on me. “Sometimes I’ll catch a nap down here, though. While the bread’s cooling.”_

_He motions toward the couch where I see a folded blanket and pillows set on one side. There’s really nothing stopping us from trying to catch a few hours sleep. My mother and Prim won’t be awake until after sunrise, and the thought of sleeping with Peeta again has been on my mind all week._

_“It looks comfortable,” I say, slapping my hand over my mouth when an unexpected yawn escapes._

_“It’s not so bad,” Peeta smiles, tugging the blanket and pillows down. He hands one of the pillows to me. “If I’m lucky, sometimes I’ll stay asleep until just before sunrise.”_

_“I wish I could do that,” I say, helping Peeta unfold the blanket._

_We don’t talk about it or call attention to it, but somehow during the course of our conversation we end up curled together on the floor under the blanket. Peeta’s protective embrace is something I’ve missed since the tour ended, and it’s not long before I drift asleep._

_I don’t know what time it is when I wake up, but Peeta’s already awake when I turn my body to face him. We don’t speak, but our hands roam. Peeta’s find their way under my shirt and he casually teases my nipples as our lips connect. My hands run down his bare back and just as casually, I slip his pants down passed his ass, just low enough for me to pull his erection from them. We lose ourselves in each other again. Slower, more deliberate this time, neither one of us in any hurry to admit that it’s time for me to go. The sun will rise soon and with it, my mother and Prim. I don’t want to have to explain to them what I was doing out before dawn, or why I returned wearing Peeta’s clothes._

_“Take these,” Peeta says, grabbing a pair of boots that’ll never fit me and raising them to eye level. “Your slippers aren’t dry yet, and even if they were, you shouldn’t be walking through the snow in them anyway.”_

_I take the boots without argument and tie them as tightly as I can, wrapping the laces around my ankles for extra support._

_“I’ll bring your stuff back to you,” I say, blindly searching for the doorknob behind me. “Later tonight?”_

_“Yeah,” Peeta agrees. “Later tonight. And I’ll have your stuff dried by then too.”_

_“I’ll see you then.” My hand finally finds the doorknob and I pull the door open, shocked at the gust of wind that tears through my body. Peeta jumps to the coat rack._

_“Take this, too,” he says, draping one of his coats over my shoulders. “And Katniss?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Watch for Haymitch. He’s usually out on his porch at this time.”_

_“Thanks..”_

_“And put your bedroom light on when you get in, so I know you got home ok.”_

_“I will.”_

_I move forward and place a quick kiss to his lips before I walk out the door, letting it slam behind me as I pull the sides of the coat tighter around my body._

_I hear Haymitch’s throaty chuckle almost instantly, and I know that even with Peeta’s warning, making it back to my house without Haymitch seeing me was impossible, so I just keep walking, struggling to keep Peeta’s boots on my feet in the ankle deep snow._

_“Be careful, Sweetheart,” Haymitch calls out._

_“I know how to walk!” I snap back, cursing under my breath when the boot almost comes completely off._

_“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.” Haymitch’s voice has grown serious, but I refuse to turn around._

_“Mind your business!” I say back before I continue toward my house._

_“I am," Haymitch sighs. "I am."_

_He starts to say something else, but I dip into my house and shut the door as quietly as possible, hoping that my mother and Prim are still asleep. The kitchen is still empty, and I don’t hear anyone in the bathroom, so odds are I’ve made it back in time to shower and change before they’d ever notice I was out._

_After taking off Peeta’s boots, I bring them up to my room and strip out of his clothes, making sure to flip my light on so he knows I got in safely. I wanted to keep the clothes on all day, but it was clear they’re not mine. The questions I’d have to try and answer is not worth the comfort the clothing would bring. I fold them up and hide all of it away until I can bring them back over to him later, shrug into my bathrobe, and slip into the bathroom._

And that’s how I ended up here, standing idly under the hot shower stream where each droplet of water seems to pelt the areas of my skin that Peeta touched the most. I have to wash the reminders away -- the physical ones, at least. What other choice do I have? Besides, it’s not the remnants of his touches that I’ll think about the rest of the day. It’ll be the knowledge that I have a reason to go back there again tonight and the thought of getting a few hours of restful sleep in his arms again that’ll keep me going. The rest is fleeting.  

As I pull out my clothes for the day, I’m struck with an idea. The pile of Peeta’s clothes that sit tucked under my pillow seem to call out to me, and I swipe the undershirt he gave me and slip it over my head, immediately throwing a heavier sweater over top of it. It’s winter, and between this and my coat, nobody will know I’m wearing Peeta’s undershirt but me. And maybe him later on when he pulls the sweater over my head and sees that I’ve kept his shirt on all day.

All of this is far from ideal, but it’s a comfort that’ll keep me going until I can see him again, and that’s all I can ask for right now. I’ll try not to focus on the worry that one day, he won’t be there when I go to him.


End file.
